


The Universe Hates The Arrow, And He Hates It Too

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 'Fletcher'?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I know I KNOW, I mean, Slow burn - Olicity, but i'm unsure, but trust me, i would like to, i'm not sure if i'll continue, she's cute, so please tell me what you think!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Oliver Queen leaves Starling City to return to Hong Kong, he visits his grave once more, only to find his mother there. Moira hasn't changed in the three years since he'd last seen her, but the young girl by her side is completely new.<br/>And, after three years of continuous torture, betrayal, and god-awful food, the Universe still decides to screw him over.<br/>Two years after that, five in total since he'd left, Oliver is prepared to wage war on Starling City against the elite who prey on the weak. There are many things in his way; a persistent bodyguard, a cute IT girl who he really shouldn't like that much, his best friend, a fourteen-year-old kid who doesn't know better, who also happens to be his long-lost daughter's foster brother. And by 'foster brother', he means 'her mother practically raised him'.<br/>And, oh yeah, he has a five-year-old daughter called Fletcher.<br/>Fletcher. Oliver Queen has a daughter called Fletcher.<br/>Screw the Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Arrow isn't owned by me.

Oliver Queen had only a few more hours in Starling City before he had to leave – Maeso's instructions were, at best, less than a 'return or you die' – and he still didn't know why he'd chosen his own _grave_ to revisit. Because, really, why would anyone want to visit their grave?

He was stood in the trees, cloaked in shadow, hood covering his face, and Oliver hoped that if anyone spotted him, they'd simply think he was a nutjob stalker, and not, in fact, Oliver Queen. For the first time since his return, he felt no urge to step into the light, and instead basked in the dark. This was where he belonged now; not with Ollie's life of partying and sex, but Oliver's life of murder and lies. And then he saw his mother.

She wore a black coat, hair perfectly fixed, and had a somber look on her face, as though she were doing something she truly regretted. And, at first, he thought she was alone, but then he saw her arm move from behind her, and it led to a -

A child?

Oliver's mind raced, because, _yes_ , that was a little girl, _yes_ , she was holding onto his mother for dear life, and _yes_ , she looked extremely familiar. Like Speedy did at her age, which was not something Oliver wanted to realize.

Moira was speaking to the girl, so quietly it took a few seconds for his ears to adjust, but Oliver hardly cared.

“We placed the graves here around two years ago, long after the search had been called off.” Moira stopped in front of his father's grave, and patted the girl's back. “We can add your mother, if you'd like.”

“I dunno,” the girl replied, mumbling into the multi-colored scarf wrapped around her neck, but he faintly detected a lisp. “Who are they?”

Oliver crept closer to the treeline, not caring if he was caught, eyes still fixed. Whoever she was, she had the most startling blue eyes that Oliver had seen since – well, since the last time he'd looked into a mirror. The name ' _Sandra_ ' crept into his mind, followed shortly by ' _she lied_ '.

“That one-” Moira pointed at the tombstone to the left, “Is my husband, Robert. And that one-” She pointed to the second one - “Is our son, Oliver. And, your father.”

“I don't have a farth- a farth- one of those.” Oddly, she couldn't seem to get her lisp around 'er'. “Mom always said he didn't know.”

“Fletcher,”

Wait. _Fletcher?!_ Oliver knew that there was a strict list of things he ought to be angry/worried about here; A) he had a child, B) he never knew about said child, C) her mother had lied to him about having a freaking miscarriage, and D) her mother was now dead. But, for some odd reason – most likely the shock – her name was the only thing that stuck out. Because _Fletcher_ meant 'arrow maker', and _Oliver_ was an archer.

The universe loved it's freaking jokes, didn't it?

Moira was still speaking, and he'd lost a few words, but he still got the gist of what she was saying. “- not important now. What _is_ important is that we're the only family you have, and, legally, we now have custody over you. I know that your life lately hasn't been pleasant, but I've lost too much of my family to let you go.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Can my broth- can he come?”

 _Brother? Dear god, please not twins._ “He isn't your brother, Fletcher.”

“Yes he is,” she disagreed.

Oliver gave a sigh of relief, and Moira sent a glance in his direction, as though she'd heard. She looked for only a few seconds, before turning back to Fletcher. “You're going to be staying here, with Thea and I, as we're family. You're my granddaughter, and as such, the heir of the Queen family.”

“Wait,” Fletcher suddenly seemed much more interested in Moira, “I'm a princess?”

“No, you're a Queen.”

Fletcher practically jumped up and down. “So, princess?”

“'Queen' is our _name_ , not our-” Moira stopped, then, repressing a laugh. “Yes, you're a princess.”

“And, I get that from my farth- fath- from Oliver?” Fletcher's sudden excitement vanished. “He dead.” Moira nodded. “Oh. He dead without knowing about me?”

“I'm sure that, if he had known, he would have been-” Again, she stopped for a few seconds, searching for the right word. Oliver could hardly be angry, because, honestly, he didn't know _how_ he felt. It was some strange mixture of surprise, dread, and hope. “Interested,” Moira eventually settled on. “He would want to be involved in your life.”

Oddly, he was reminded of the phone calls he'd received from Sandra – both the one where she'd informed him of her pregnancy, and the one in which she'd _obviously_ lied and told him she'd miscarried. The first had been followed by dread, and an awful numb feeling, because everyone had known he'd get _someone_ accidentally pregnant at one point. And then, between then and the second call, a sense of hope entered him. Because, he could do this. He could sober up, mature, and have a little baby.

And then Sandra called, saying things like 'bleeding', 'unexpected', and 'needing space', and that hope turned into sludge. Oliver had cried. Actually cried, over the unborn child he hadn't know he hadn't lost. In fact, it was that horrible feeling inside his chest that had caused him to invite Sara onto the Queen's Gambit in the first place, and look at how _that_ had turned out.

“Oh,” said the young child who was, unknowingly, responsible for the hell he'd been through for the past three and a half years. “I... oh.”

But that wasn't fair, was it? Sandra was the one who lied, Fletcher – oh god, that name – was just a... victim of that lie, like Oliver was. And, truly, he didn't even know if would have stayed even if she'd told the truth. Maybe he would have ran from it, like he did everything else in his life.

He was still mulling it over when Fletcher spoke up again, in a decidedly louder voice than before; “Can I speak to him? Alone, please?”

Moira seemed to be holding back tears, so she nodded her head and waved her hand, before walking off, waiting near the curved path. Fletcher slowly approached the grave, and Oliver noticed that she really did look like him; blue eyes, strong jaw, and long dirty blonde hair that fell in a mess of curls. And _incredibly_ young. Too young to be an orphan, that's for sure.

“I'm not _entirely_ sure how this works,” Fletcher began. “But I'm sorry you're dead. Mom's dead too, now, and... I'm a Queen. I'd really like my Mom back, instead.” She leaned down, and brushed a hand against the smooth marble of his stone. “I'm not calling you 'Dad', or anything, because you're not. If you were alive, I might, but- they might come back. And Mom's been killed.”

Oliver let out a muffled gasp – because this was possibly harder than the message Robert had left for him, and seeing Laurel again – and Fletcher's head shot up from the tombstone, fixing instantly on him. His first thought was that she had good reflexes for a three year old, his second was that _she saw him_.

There was no doubt, because she fell back onto the grass, eyes wide. Oliver froze because there was nothing, _really_ , that he could do besides immediately start running, but Fletcher seemed to freeze, too, because she didn't call out for Moira, or loudly announce the stranger watching her talk to her dead father.

“I...” Fletcher stood, once again talking to the tomb. “I'll see you again. I hope.” Turning on her heel, she marched away from Oliver and his grave, blonde hair bouncing in the light.

And Oliver knew he ought to think something – other than _OH MY GOD I HAVE A_ _DAUGHTER_  – but then he realized what she'd said, and what she'd inferred.

 _I'll **see** you again._ Not I'll _talk_ to you again, but _see_. Somehow, she'd realized exactly who he was just from looking from a tombstone to a man in a hood. A three year old had realized what the rest of his family, and that one leggy blonde in QC who thought he was cute, hadn't. That Oliver Queen was still alive.

Seriously, fuck the Universe.

 


	2. The One With Tommy's Spinach Guest Appearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hasn't even been a week since Oliver's return from the island, and already he's impatient.  
> He has plans - and he needs to move things along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow.

It's precisely four days until someone brings up the island again. It's dinnertime – a vast spread of foods that are still too rich for Oliver to eat – and Tommy is sat to his left, laughing at something Walter said, and Thea's watching him intently.

“What did you eat on the island?”

There's silence, much like her original question, and Oliver doesn't immediately answer. Instead he spears a piece of grilled fish – he had eaten a _lot_ of that over the past five years, and somehow it brought comfort – and chewed on it steadily. “This, mostly,” once he'd finished. “Some fruits. Most were poison, but a few weren't. Animals – wolves, bears, some cats. Anything I could kill, really.”

From the way everyone suddenly stared at him, Oliver figured he should have phrased the last part differently, but it's the truth, one of the few things that was, and so he kept silent.

“No five stars, huh?” Tommy joked, but his tone isn't light – much like the party, he sensed something dark within Oliver, and wasn't afraid to point it out.

“Still,” Moira said, leaning forward. “I'm glad either way. If it weren't for them, you most likely wouldn't be here.”

“Indeed,” Walter agrees, taking his wife's hand. Oliver watched the movement, eyes narrowing, but then shifted his gaze over to Thea.

After he'd answered, she immediately looked down to her phone – an Apple one, apparently – and her fingers flew quickly across the screen. From the way she mouthed along with whatever she's texting, it didn't take long for Oliver to figure out what she's saying. “Who are you telling about me?”

“What?!” Her head shot up, eyes wide, and the phone fell into her lap. “I wasn't telling anyone.”

“Thea,” their mother admonished. “You cannot tell strangers about Oliver's ordeals whilst he was away.”

Oliver covered up his snort, because the type of food he ate when on Lian Yu paled in comparison to _everything else_. “Who outside the family would want to know?”

“She isn't 'outside the family', actually.” Thea reached for her glass, and ignored Moira's reply.

“I _told_ you that-”

“She has a right to know! And so does Oliver!”

Tommy murmured a quiet “Oh crap,” under his breath, but Oliver is focused on his sister. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the mahogany table, and catches Thea's reluctant eye. “I deserve to know what?”

“She was just curious, I swear, so I sent her a couple of messages.”

“Thea, it's too soon,” Moira insisted. “I'll tell Oliver when he's ready.”

“Ready for what?” Oliver asked, gaze flicking between his mother and his sister. “Speedy? Mom? Who are you talking about?”

There's silence at the table, awkward and heavy – neither side willing to break it first. But, eventually, someone does.

“D'you remember Sandra Hawk?” Tommy asks, slouching back into his uncomfortable chair. He's toying with a piece of spinach on his plate, but his eyes are fixed elsewhere. “You met her around two months before you boarded the Queen's Gambit?”

“Yeah,” Oliver replied. How could he forget? She was pregnant, and then she wasn't, and then, three years later, she was dead and left behind a daughter. _His_ daughter. “Why? Did she have the baby?”

“You knew?” Choked Moira. “You knew about the-”

“When I was on the Gambit she called,” he lied, smoothly, “Said that the baby had survived. Why, what happened to them?”

Thea practically bounced out of her seat. “I _knew_ it! There's no way you wouldn't have known!”

Moira was decidedly less enthusiastic. “Oliver, darling, perhaps we should continue this... privately.”

“This _is_ private,” he pointed out. Tommy fidgeted in his chair, and Thea continued to bounce. It was only Walter who seemed to be calm; his face betrayed nothing, except it was tilted slightly. Oliver met his gaze, and the older man nodded slightly.

“Moira, I think it's time.” Walter turned to his wife, squeezing the palm he held. “He needs to know.”

“I know, I know, but I just want to protect you, Oliver, and-” Sighing, Moira took a sip of her tea – his mother _never_ drank coffee unless she was stressed – and then stood. “We'll discuss this in the study. Thea, if you-”

“I'm coming!” Thea jumped up from the table, shoved her pocket into her jeans pocket, and then practically dragged Oliver from the room. “Tommy, you joining us?”

“I'll finish my fish.” Tommy drawled, watching them go. “I've had enough nightmares about dysfunctional families as it is.”

Walter _did_ follow, buttoning his crisp suit jacket. He stayed close to Moira, hand hovering over the small of her back, and he stayed behind her even as she settled into one of the large chairs that were in the study. Thea practically slammed the doors shut behind them, before tugging on Oliver's arm again.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, but Mom wanted you to get settled first.” She ducked her head, hiding her face, and let out a quiet whisper. “Sorry.”

“What for, Speedy?” He grinned when she shot him an annoyed look; Oliver was sure that if he used it enough, she'd warm up to the nickname.

Moira smiled at their interaction, before loudly clearing her throat. “Since you already knew that Sandra did keep the child, I'll be blunt.”

“It'd be a first,” Oliver couldn't help but mutter. Moira raised an eyebrow at his words, since when didn't she hear something he didn't want her to, and he bowed his head. “Sorry, mom.”

“You're right,” she said, surprising him. “But this _is_ delicate; not just because you're my son.”

Walter placed a hand on her shoulder, and Moira raised one of her own to return the gesture. “Oliver, you have to understand, we had to think about what was best for Fletcher.”

It'd been so long since he'd heard that name, but Oliver still knew what it meant. _Who_ it meant. “My daughter...”

“You know her name?” Thea asked in surprise. She peered up at him curiously, arms folded across her chest. “How?”

“Laurel made a joke about paternity tests,” Oliver told her. “And I did a Google search. The first result was 'Oliver Queen's long lost daughter, found next to Mother's body'. I figured I'd give you some time to explain.”

Moira gave a sharp intake of breath through her nose, and lowered her head. “Of course, I should have realized...” Then, straightening, she brought her gaze back up to meet his. “It was a home invasion, when Fletcher was three. Her mother died, but Fletcher didn't. In Sandra's will, it said that guardianship would be given to Fletcher's paternal grandmother, which was me. She's been living here, as a Queen, since then.”

“But not now,” Oliver pointed out. _A home invasion? Why?_ He'd have to investigate that later. “Why? And why are you texting her about me?”

Thea's mouth opened in shock when Oliver turned to her. “How am _I_ in the wrong? Mom's the one who didn't tell you!”

“Thea, why are you texting her?”

“Because she's curious about the father who's been dead for longer than she's been alive?” She pointed out, more than a tad sarcastic. “She's only five, but she's got questions about everything. Including _you_ , surprisingly. I didn't see any harm in telling her.”

“It's harmful because perhaps _Oliver_ was the one who wanted to inform her?” Walter said, sending Thea a stern gaze. “He's her father, Thea.”

Oliver's stomach twisted at that; two years preparing to meet her hadn't actually prepared him, _at all_. How do you prepare for meeting your long lost daughter who recognized you standing over your own grave, then didn't tell anyone? “Where _is_ she?”

“Coast City,” Moira replied, unfazed by his random question. “I _was_ going to tell you about her in a few weeks.”

“No.” He said the word without really realizing it. Everyone turned to him, shocked, and Oliver desperately tried to figure out where it'd come from. Did he really want to- “I wanna see her now. Or, at least as soon as possible. I spent five years thinking she'd grow up never knowing me; she's my _kid_ , Mom.”

His mother stared at him for a long moment – perhaps she'd finally seen that, perhaps, he _had_ changed in a good way – before giving a single nod. “She'll be here by tomorrow. Oliver, I-”

“I know.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I understand. But... it's not fair to Fletcher.”

The name felt odd on his lips; familiar, but not quite right. Like he wasn't supposed to say it. Still, it was his daughter's name – and _that_ thought made his stomach twist again.

*

Two and a half hours later, Oliver, Tommy and Thea were sprawled across a sofa in the living room, TV blaring _The Vampire Diaries_ , and Thea watching intently as Damon professed his love for... Elena? Ilena? Oliver didn't know, and honestly neither did Tommy, because he was more focused on other, not a hit CBS show with pointless love triangles, things.

“What's she like?” He asked.

Thea barely glanced at him. “Elena? Well, she's caught right now because Stefan has _already_ professed his love, but Damon treats her differently, and-”

“Not her-” he waved a hand at the show as Damon pushed the woman against a wall and they proceeded to do something that wasn't PG-rated _at all_ “- I mean Fletcher.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, eyes flicking between the TV and Thea. Oliver didn't much like the emotion they held being pointed at his baby sister. “That's a loaded question, man. Fletch is two-parts crazy, four-parts crazy inventor. Three-parts pranker.”

“ _Pranker_?” Oliver repeated. “Does that tie in with the inventor?”

“More the craziness,” Thea commented, who was also flicking between Tommy and the screen. Oliver _extremely_ didn't like the look in her eyes, either. “She doesn't say much.”

“At all.” Tommy added on. “I think it was like, three months before I heard her speak, and I visited once a week.”

“You did?” Oliver sent his best friend a surprised glance. “Why?”

Tommy and Thea sent each other a not-so covert glance, but it was neither of them who spoke, because Raisa entered the room. She was carrying a huge tray, laden with around fifteen different types of chocolate bars, and Oliver's stomach began to salivate at the very sight. If there was one thing that _anyone_ missed whilst on a desert island – it was chocolate. “Miss Fletcher's favorite type is Mars.”

“Yeah, 'cause she thinks it'll make her an astronaut.” Thea muttered.

“What do _you_ think of her, Raisa?” Oliver asked as he stood, taking the tray from her. Oliver knew from experience that Raisa's opinion of someone would be the most truthful – after all, she'd seen the man Oliver could have been years before Lian Yu. He'd always found himself trying to live up to her quiet expectations, as opposed to his mother's.

“I think she is a good girl,” the Russian said. “Much like her father for that.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “She's like me?” There was a five second long snort from Tommy, and so he turned his gaze over. “She's like me?” He repeated.

“Yeah, uh, she's a _lot_ like you.” Tommy shuffled in his seat, eyes fixed on the screen. “But, like, how you were when you were a kid.”

“She's _five_ ,” Thea pointed out, ripping the wrapper off a Twix. “And she acts like it. Mom says she's like you when you were that age, 'cept the jokes.”

Immediately, Thea and Tommy let out simultaneous groans. “Jesus, the _jokes_.”

“You're not telling me anything,” Oliver said. “What jokes?”

“Mr Oliver,” Raisa let out a little laugh. “We cannot tell you everything about her.”

“I don't see why not,” he grumbled, sitting back down. Oliver waited a few seconds, before he turned to Tommy. “Seriously though, _what jokes_?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta-reader, so any mistakes are my own. I'd really like it if you could tell me what you think of this chapter; characterisations and the like. I'm English, so anything American will be mostly guesswork.  
> Next Chapter; Sins of Thy Father.


	3. The One With Incredible Irony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver meets Fletcher, and gets a pleasant surprise. He also gets some good advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow.  
> (Even though I wish I did after that last episode.)

In retrospect, maybe Oliver should have expected this. Because, at first, he'd been sure that Fletcher wouldn't remember him; they'd only seen each other once, when she was three, and that was a long time ago, especially for a young child. Then, he'd been worried; what if she did remember him, but resented him for not being around? That also seemed likely. Oliver resented himself as is was – for both leaving her and missing out on so much of her life, and also because he knew he could _never_ be what she needed - and he wasn't sure if he could handle Fletcher blaming him, too.

He wasn't even sure if he should meet her, or instead keep his distance; Oliver had already proven that he couldn't save the city _and_ be Oliver Queen, loving son and brother. If he couldn't do _that_ , how could he be a dad, too?

“I can hear you thinking,” Thea said, from where she was stood next to him. “And you're being even more stupid than usual.”

Oliver sent her a Look – equal parts amused and annoyed, because he'd missed her so very much – before turning back to where Fletcher was sat. She was in her room – even messier than his was at that age – and was taking apart a toy car with startling speed and accuracy. Her curly blonde hair was pulled into two pigtails, but what Oliver liked most about her, so far, was that she wore a dark green hoodie. He knew that it was nothing more than coincidence, but still.

“And just what am I thinking?” Oliver asked. He was leaning against the open door-frame of Fletcher's room, taking in the sight. “And why is it so specially stupid?”

“Because Fletcher doesn't _need_ you to replace her Mom.” Thea smugly informed him. “And you don't think you can be a dad. You _still_ have commitment issues the size of a Killer Whale.”

He sent her another Look. “I got over those things years ago.”

“No, you didn't.” She snorted. “'Cause if you did, you'd be in there introducing yourself, not creeping here.”

“I'm not- alright, so maybe I am,” he admitted. “But I can't go over there and say; 'Hi, I'm your long lost father who's been dead for longer than you've been alive'?”

Thea rolled her eyes. “Why not? She's five, not an idiot. She's not _that_ similar to you.”

“So that's what you think I should do?” Oliver asked. “Just blurt it out, like that?”

“If it beats this, then yes.” She gave him a rough push on the arm that did absolutely nothing to move him, then frowned. “Have you been working out?”

“Five years on an island,” he reminded her. “I had a lot of free time.”

“Beats other things you could've been doing.”

Oliver let out a low groan. “I'm going to forget you _ever_ said that.”

“I'm seventeen!” Thea protested. “I know about se-”

“Stop!” Oliver said, moving up from the frame. “I'm talking to her, just stop... being so grown-up. It's wrong.”

“ _Seven_ teen,” Thea emphasized. “Not a baby like Fletcher.”

“See,” he muttered, slowly making his way over. “That's why I'm talking to _her_. More intelligent conversation, too.”

“Hey!”

Chuckling, Oliver sat down next to Fletcher, who was still focused on her toy car. It was in pieces, strewn across the floor, but apparently it made perfect sense to her, because she didn't even seem unfazed. “I'm-”

“I know who you are,” Fletcher said, without glancing up. “I recognized you.”

He almost asked from where – the photos, or in the flesh – but decided against it. “Okay. How do you feel about that?”

Fletcher replied with an eloquent shrug. “I didn't know there was a lost and found for people, too. But there's a lot I don't know. Like, why pens can write on everything, but pencils _can't_.”

“I'm sure that you're clever,” Oliver tried. “You must know lots.”

“Not about you,” she whispered.

That just about hit the nail on the head, didn't it? Shuffling on the carpet, Oliver sent Thea a panicked look. But all Thea did was give him a thumbs-up, which wasn't exactly helpful.

“You're right,” he finally decided to say. “You don't know much about me. And... I don't know much about _you_ , either. Or your mother, for that matter... but, I do know that-”

“My middle name is 'Olivia',” Fletcher said, with narrow eyes. “That should tell you about what Mom used to be like.”

It took Oliver a few moments to reply. “... _Olivia_?”

“To honor you,” she informed him, nodding her head rapidly. “If I were a boy, my name was gonna be; Conner Oliver Queen. But, I _wasn't_ , so Fletcher Olivia instead.”

“It's a good name,” Oliver said. “I like it.”

She smiled. “So do I. I like your name; Jonas. Like, the Jonas Brother's. Auntie Thea used to have a crush on them; but boy's are icky.”

“I hope that never changes,” he murmured, a slow grin spreading. “Tommy said you liked inventing things?”

Fletcher gave another nod. “Yeah. Taking things apart, seeing how they work; one day, I wanna make things that _I_ think of.”

“I'm sure you can do that.” Oliver said. “We can become anything we want to if we work hard enough.”

Oliver knew that he was saying the truth – how else had he become the vigilante, spending his nights righting his father's wrongs? The problem was; how did he spend his days?

“I've been gone for a long time,” he began, “And I have a lot to catch up on. Other than my family, where do you think I should start?”

Fletcher gave him a long stare. “I'm five.”

“I know.” Oliver smiled. “I also know that children are... cleverer, than what most people think. You see things other people don't; like how that toy car fits together. How do you think I do?”

“I...” She frowned, except it looked more adorable than anything else, then shrugged her shoulders. “Tarzan spent time with Jane. But, before he left for our world, he accepted who he was _now_ , after he learned that he was shipwrecked. Maybe that's what you do? Figure out who you are now?”

Tears prickled at Oliver's eyes at her innocence. She was right – surprisingly so – but Fletcher didn't really seem to understand the importance of what she'd just said. “So, figure out who I am?”

“Mom always said; 'To love others, love yourself'.” Fletcher gave another shrug. “I think it means, be nice to yourself, and be nice to others. That's why I stopped headbutting kids at school. I don't wanna be headbutted, do I? I _am_ five, though. I don't think I'm too good at advice yet.” She perked up, pulling her backpack over to her, and then rummaged through its contents. “'M good at jokes, though. Got a book an... 'verything.”

Oliver simply stared. _To love others, love yourself._ It did sound like Sandra; despite the fact that Oliver had only known her for a day, time in which he was severely wasted, and his clearest memory of Sandra during that day was of her... lips, from what he remembered of her personality – which, to be fair, Oliver had spent more time focused on her bra size – she would have said something like that to their daughter.

He felt a sudden intense loathing of his past self, which wasn't too unusual, but Oliver did wish he had more and clearer memories of the mother of his only child. Huh. _His_ only child.

“Here!” Fletcher announced, pulling out a small, manhandled book that was a vibrant pink color. Flipping through the pages, she settled on one titled ' _Fairy Tale_ _Jokes_ ', and let out a dainty cough. “Why couldn't Robin Hood hit the target?”

Oliver's eyebrows raised a solid inch. _Robin Hood? Fuck the universe._ “I don't know,” he said aloud. “Why couldn't he hit the target?”

“Because his arrows were all in a-quiver.” Fletcher announced, laughing.

Oliver laughed along side her – mainly because what were the chances of her wearing a green hood, _and_ telling a Robin freaking Hood joke at the same time (Almost as though someone were deliberately playing with him) – then shook his head. “D'you like Robin Hood?”

“He's a hero.” Fletcher said, simply. “And, I'm a princess, so, he'd rescue me, right?”

“You're a Queen, actually.”

Fletcher frowned. “Princess.”

“Queen,” he replied.

“Princess.”

“Queen.”

“Princess.”

“Queen.”

“Queen's have a tiara,” Fletcher told him. “I don't have one.”

Oliver heaved a sigh. “If I get you one, will you accept that you're a Queen?”

“Can I have _two_?” She asked.

“Ugh... fine.” Oliver stood, dusting off his jeans. “But only two.”

Fletcher beamed up at him. “Are you leaving now?”

“Don't you want to play?”

Her eyes flickered up and down to the toy car, and then settled back on him. “S'not playing. 'S fixing. But, yeah.”

“I'll see you later,” Oliver said, smiling. “Alright?” He turned to leave, but her quiet noise of protest made him turn back. “Fletch?”

“I'm... glad you're alive. That's it.”

It was probably more than he deserved, but still, Oliver's smile only grew. “Thanks. I'm glad you're here to welcome me home.” Walking away, he noticed Thea's teary-eyed grin, and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Barely ten minutes,” she smirked, “And she's _already_ got you wrapped around her pinkie. Wow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this! This chapter was mostly fluffy, but I think we all needed it, especially after last night.  
> This is, once again, un-betaed, so all mistakes are my own. It was actually quite difficult to write this chapter for two reasons; One, Fletcher is a rather complex character, Two, I had no clue as to how or where their conversation would take place. So, instead of forcing it, I took a step back.  
> As you can see, it really helped. Also, *please* *please* tell me what you think! Knowing what people think of this story helps both the muse and I.


	4. The One Where Oliver Doesn't Get Laid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver doesn't get laid, Fletcher get's a legally living parent, Moira gets a shock, Thea gets ready to party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, or any associated DC characters.

_The day I went missing,_ Oliver thought to himself, _was the day I died. Five years in hell forged me into a weapon, which I use to honor a vow I made to my father, who sacrificed his life, for mine._ Turning a corridor, his body naturally walked in the shadows, avoiding any and all sources of light. _In his final moments, he told me the truth; that our family's wealth had been built on the suffering of others. That he failed our city, and that it was up to me to save it and right his wrongs. But to do that without endangering the people closest to me, I have to-_ His thoughts cut off as he let out a huge yawn, rearing his head back, not unlike a lion would.

He'd been up until four in the morning, after fighting his way through Marcus Redman's goons and reaching the man himself. After pushing his face a tad too close to a spinning fan, Redman had agreed to give the pensioners the money back he'd stolen. Before returning to the Foundry, Oliver had quickly stopped two attempted rapes, three robberies, and an attempted arson. He hadn't gone out of his way to stop them, because they were simply on his route, but, surprisingly, it had brought a nice sense of... accomplishment, to Oliver.

“Why're you grinning?” Thea asked as he entered the kitchen. She was sat at the marble island counter with a plate of toast next to her, Fletcher to the left, wobbling awkwardly on a stool. “Get laid?”

“Thea!” Oliver protested. “She's _five_!”

“Exactly,” his sister said, waving a carefree hand. “She doesn't understand, do you?”

Fletcher frowned, then shook her head. Grinning, Thea turned back to Oliver. “Thea, that doesn't make it any better.”

“You're worse than Mom,” Thea muttered, ripping into a piece of soggy toast.

Oliver rolled his eyes in response, before making himself a glass of orange juice. “Are you going to school?” He asked Fletcher, in a not-so hidden attempt to learn a little more about her.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the 'P'. “I get the morning off, 'cause of your court thing. After lunch, I go back to Kindergarten.”

“Don't sound too enthusiastic,” Oliver warned her. “Does she go to Kensin, too?”

Thea nodded. “Mom enrolled her there, soon as the papers for guardianship came through. Fletcher here, however, hates the place.”

“They make me read, and do art,” Fletcher moaned. “ _And_ I have to wear a skirt. I don't like wearing skirts; they're windy. The boys don't have to, but the girls do. It's not fair.”

“Tell me about it,” Thea said, patting her niece on the back. “But maybe Oliver could do something about that. After today, he _will_ be your legal parent. He can change your school, if he wants to.”

Fletcher's head shot up as Oliver leveled a glare at his sister. “Wait, what?” The five year old's gaze fixed onto her father. “You're becoming my- is that why I have to come?”

“You're required to be there,” Oliver told her. “Thea's right, though. I _am_ petitioning to become your legal parent. Is that... okay?”

Thea let out a quiet snort, but Oliver focused on his daughter. Fletcher's head tilted to the side, eyes calculating. “Grandmother uses the 'I'm responsible for you' argument when she makes me eat cabbages. I _loathe_ cabbages. And sprouts! They're just... little... evil... cabbages!” She leaned forward. “Will you make her stop making me eat them?”

Thea's snort was louder this time, and Oliver still ignored her. “I can... stop her doing that, yes.”

“Good,” Fletcher said, leaning back. “I'm okay with it then. No cabbages, no sprouts, no fuss.”

“You know,” Thea said, standing up. “When _I_ was a kid, we hated carrots.”

“Yeah, but when you were a kid, we didn't even have color TV.” Fletcher said, oblivious to the outraged gasp Thea emitted. “'Cause you're old. I'm not.”

“Yeah, Thea,” Oliver began. “Weren't you just saying yesterday about how 'mature' you are?”

Scowling, she stormed from the room. Fletcher watched her go, then flicked her blue eyes back to Oliver. “Sometimes, I think her name should be Drama.”

That almost made Oliver laugh. “You're right.”

There was silence for a few moments, as Fletcher played with the ends of her hair. “You know, you're falling behind.”

“Huh?”

“You're falling behind,” Fletcher said, hopping down from the stool. “It only took Jesus _three days_ to come back from the dead. It's taken you over five years.”

“Yeah, but he went to Heaven. I went to the opposite place.” Oliver called after her.

He waited a moment before following, and soon enough he heard the TV blaring in the drawing room. Entering, he saw his mother sipping tea as she watched the Starling News Network, and Thea re-checking her school bag. Fletcher was sat next to Moira, seemingly fixing a pen.

“ _Over the past 15 years,_ ” the newscaster said, _“Mr. Redman has withdrawn more than $30 million from the plan's account. Mr. Redman claims refunding the Halcyon Pension Plan has always been his intent, but sources say Redman was coerced by the vigilante.”_

Oliver eyed the black-and-white drawing that popped up on screen, and let out a fake laugh. “This guy gets more air-time than the Kardashians, right?”

“Five years on an island, and you _still_ know who they are?” Thea asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I've been catching up,” he told her, “It's nice to see how much our culture has... improved while I was away.”

“But the city used to be different,” Moira said, taking another sip. “People used to feel _safe_.”

Thea fixed her mother a look. “Aw, what's wrong, Mom? Afraid we're gonna be next?”

“Do you have any questions about today, Oliver?” He jumped at Walter's voice, but managed to tone it down. The tall dark man was fixing a cuff-link, and Fletcher gave him a smile, which Walter returned. “It's a simple proof-of-life declaration, and then your death-in-absentia judgment will be voided. After that, you have to give both a written and vocal agreement to taking Fletcher's guardianship.”

“It's alright, Walter,” Oliver said, with faux-easiness. “I've been in a courtroom before.”

Tommy's voice echoed throughout the room, and Oliver managed to not spin on his heel. Instead, he calmly turned to face his best friend. “Four times by my estimate. You know, there was the DUI, the assault on that paparazzi dou-” He noticed Fletcher staring at him, and smoothly changed his words. “-dough bag. And the other two. I mean, who could forget the cop?”

“I wish everyone would,” Moira murmured. She set the cup down, then smiled down at her granddaughter. “You didn't understand any of that, did you?”

“And Oliver didn't get laid,” Fletcher replied, nodding.

“Do you see what happens?” Oliver asked Thea, exasperated. She rolled her eyes in response, but Oliver had already looked back to Tommy. “I'd hang, but we're heading to court.”

“I know,” Tommy said, grinning. “That's why I'm here. My best friend is getting legally resurrected, I wouldn't miss _this_ for the world.”

“Right,” nodding, Oliver turned to his sister. “What about you, Speedy?”

She glared at the nickname. “Oh, I think the first _four_ times of you in court were enough for me. I'm going to school.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver could hardly blame her, could he? He watched as she left the room, brown hair sweeping behind her. “See you,”

Moira stood from the sofa, buttoning her coat, as Diggle entered the room. His eyes immediately fixed on Oliver, before he relaxed. “Mrs Queen? Car's ready.”

“Walter,” she said, taking her husbands arm. The two left together, Oliver, Fletcher, and Tommy trailing behind.

“Uncle Tommy,” Fletcher said, hooking her backpack over one shoulder. “Are you still coming 'round after school to help with my homework?”

“Sure, kiddo.” Tommy answered. He rummaged in his suit jacket for a moment, before tossing a small car to her. “Have at it.”

She ran off, after giving Tommy a delighted hug, and Oliver raised an eyebrow. “She get's them from you?”

“Yeah.” Tommy said. “It's what got her talking for the first time. Ever since, every time I see her, I give her something to take apart. Keeps her happy.”

Oliver observed him with only a slight pang of jealousy. Tommy moved ahead, whistling under his breath, and Diggle took his place, looking oddly understanding. “Hurts, doesn't it?”

“What?” Oliver asked. “Nothing hurts.”

“Sure,” Diggle said, as though Oliver had just announced that the sun was, in fact, blue. “That's completely true. Sir.”

*

The courtroom was sunny, made out of chestnut wood, and the judge glared down at him in such a way that Oliver was forcibly reminded of the cop incident. And the taxi. “Are you going to testify as to what happened when the yacht sank?” The judge asked, frowning. “Are you going to talk about the boat crash Mr. Queen, did you _see_ Sara Lance die?”

Oliver's mind went back, almost immediately, to -

“ _Sara!” Ollie watched, horrified, as the water flooded into the cabin, Sara being ripped away from him. **My fault.**_

\- he cleared his throat. “There was a... storm, and the boat went down. I was the only survivor.” The lie burned in the back of his throat, because being dishonest about -

“ _She's not there!” Robert yelled, holding onto the back of his son's shirt._

“ _Sara!” Oliver cried, ignoring him._

\- “My father didn't make it,” that was, at least partially true -

_Robert raised the gun, closing his eyes, and Ollie let out a terrible scream “No!” as he pulled the trigger._

\- “I almost died, I-” Gulping, he looked down, fixing on the floor. There was silence, and he didn't need to turn around to know that everyone's gaze was fixed on him. “I thought that I had, because I spent _so_ many days on that life raft before I saw land. When I reached it, I knew.” Flicking his gaze back up, he saw the judge's confusion, and continued. “I knew that I was gonna have to live for both of us. And in those five years, it was that _one_ thought that kept me going.”

Oliver was quiet then, because his heart was aching with pain – the wounds, like all, were still too raw – and the lawyer stepped forward, Diane, possibly.

“Your honor, we move to vitiate the death-in-absentia filed after Oliver's disappearance at sea aboard the Queen's Gambit five years ago.” Diana, he was sure, took a breath. “Unfortunately, we will not be requesting that the declaration of death filed for the petitioner's father, Robert Queen, be rescinded... the Queen family is only entitled to _one_ miracle, I'm afraid.”

The judge waited for a few tense moments, then brought down the little hammer. “Vitiate accepted. Welcome back to life, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver gave a meager smile in response. Diane, he wasn't _absolutely_ certain, spoke up again. “Your honor, we are also putting forward a PRA, for Oliver to take custody of his daughter, Fletcher Olivia Queen.”

He couldn't help but glance behind him when she said that, to check his family's responses; Fletcher seemed disgruntled that her full name was used, Walter was smiling, as was Tommy, and his mother was... Oliver frowned; Moira was frowning, as though she didn't approve. Why wouldn't she?

“A PRA?” The judge asked. “You do work fast. Is it already signed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“What about the mother?”

Diana, still not sure, paused, as if gauging whether Oliver himself wanted to speak. “Deceased, your honor.”

“Very well, the PRA is approved.” The judge slammed the hammer down again, then fixed their cold eyes onto Oliver. “Take care, Mr. Queen.”

Slightly too warm, Oliver hardly waited for the room to begin clearing before he left, family trailing behind.Leaning against a wall, he let out a deep sigh.

“I still don't see why I had to be here,” Fletcher said, frowning.

“In case the judge asked you any questions,” Moira told her, moving ahead. Oliver hastened to follow as she and Walter began walking down the marble staircase. “Now, onto the offices. Everyone is waiting to meet you.”

“Uh, Mom,” Oliver took a breath, trying to calm his heartbeat, “That was a little bit heavier than I was expecting it to be. Can we do that tomorrow, please?”

Moira softened as his look, then nodded. “Of course. We'll get Fletcher to school – you take the day to yourself.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, sincerely.

Tommy and Oliver watched them go, then the darker haired man fixed the other, more handsome, one with a surprised look. “Last week, you couldn't wait to get to the company.”

“Tommy,” he began in an annoyed tone. “I'd just spent _five years_ away from civilization. I wasn't exactly 'thinking straight'. I- hi!” Oliver ended, as Laurel Lance turned a corner.

They stared at each other for a moment – one gaze surprised, the other suspicious – when Laurel frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, they were bringing me back from the dead, legally speaking. And making me Fletcher's legal guardian.” Oliver tried a polite smile. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“My job,” was Laurel's curt answer.

“More like the D.A.'s.” Johanna – Oliver dimly recalled trying to hook up with her at a party, right before he began sleeping with Sara. Actually, they begun sleeping with each other at _that_ party. - added.

Deciding not to dwell on the mistake's of yesteryear, Oliver turned his attention onto the woman he _didn't_ know. A rare occurrence in Oliver life, trust him. “Hi, I'm Oliver Queen.”

“Emily Nocenti,” she introduced herself, shaking his offered hand.

“Oliver just got back from five years on a desert island,” Laurel informed Emily, “And the Fletcher he just spoke of is his now-legitimate love child who he conceived while cheating on me. At the same time he was _also_ screwing my sister; he was with her when she died.” She took a step forward, glaring at him with all she could. “And last week, he told me to stay away from him. It was _really_ good advice.”

And with that she stormed off, taking Oliver's heart with her, and Johanna and Emily followed. Emily politely offered a; “It was nice to meet you,” but Oliver hardly cared.

“Yeah,” Tommy awkwardly patted Oliver's back. “Come, on buddy, shake it off. Let's go.”

*

The Foundry was quiet when he entered it, barely an hour later. Oliver took a moment to bask in the silence, filled only by the rushing of water from the burst pipes, before moving over to his modest computer area. He was exactly a 'whiz' – if that was still the term – but after a quick Google search about the man Laurel was prosecuting, and a cross-reference to the List, Oliver leant back in his chair, with a grim sort of satisfaction. He never forgot a name.

 _Martin Somers_ , he thought, _Laurel's targeted the worst of Starling City, so it's no surprise his name is on my father's list._ He walked over to where he kept his suit, pulling out the familiar green hood. _The city's police and the D.A. can't stop him._ He paused for effect. _Or won't. Laurel thinks she's the only one willing to bring him to justice;_

 _She's wrong_.

If there was one thing Oliver enjoyed, it was his inner-monologue. Then again, it probably didn't do anything for his already-fragile mental health.

After the thirty minutes it took to reach the docks on his Ducati – boy, did he love riding that thing – he began making his way into Somers' warehouse, his leather helping him hide in the shadows. Somers' voice was loudly echoing as he yelled at his men, already conflicting with the public persona he had earlier oozed at the cameras like an infected sore.

“You!” Somers yelled at an older man with graying hair. “Listen up; the longer this goes on, the more likely the media is gonna crucify me. You shut this trial down, do you _understand_ me?!” He turned away, only for the room to be plunged into darkness, from two green arrows breaking the lightbulbs. Immediately, Somers' guards raised their weapons – but he was better. Four more arrows whizzed through the air, cutting them down before they even had the chance to pull the trigger. “What the hell?!” Somers' asked, eyes widening in fear as the Starling Vigilante dropped down in front of him.

“Martin Somers,” he began, stalking forwards.

“Who the hell are you?” Somers really didn't know when to quiet. But luckily, the Vigilante knew how to make him shut up. He grabbed ahold of Somers' neck easily, pushing him up against the desk.

“ _You have failed this city_.” The Vigilante thundered.

“No!” Replied Somers. “No, no, no, no, no!”

He snarled. “You're gonna testify in that trial, you're gonna confess to having Victor Nocenti killed.” The Vigilante loosened his grip, turned on his heel, and paused only to fire an arrow back at Somers, hitting the desk and embedding itself into the wood. “There won't be a _second_ warning.”

And with that, he left.

*

“I hired you to protect my son,” Moira's voice echoed throughout the Queen Mansion, and Oliver winced when he heard it. “Now, I'm not a professional bodyguard, but it seems to me that the _first_ requirement would be managing to stay next to the man you're hired to protect.” Ah, there was the patented Queen sarcasm; inherited from mother to child.

“With all due respect, ma'am, I never had a client who didn't want my protection.” Diggle replied.

“ _I_ hired you, that makes _me_ the client.” Moira snapped. She continued in a gentler tone, but it still wasn't that gentle. “Now, where do you think my son is going on these chaperone-less excursions?”

“Ma'am,” Diggle said, tiredly, “I truly do not know.”

“And he truly doesn't.” Oliver interjected, as he swaggered into the room.

Moira turned to face him, an unimpressed look on her beautifully aged face. “Then, perhaps you'd like to share with me where it is you run off to.”

 _Fuck it_. “I've been apartment hunting.”

“What?” Moira choked. “You've been _what_?”

“Apartment hunting,” he repeated. “I've been looking for a place to buy and move into.”

For Moira, that seemed even more confusing. “But you've just gotten back. Why would you want to leave again?”

“I'm not going anywhere, Mom.” Oliver said, smiling slightly. “But I've been gone for five years, and living here, it feels like I spent a week in the Bahamas. Nothing's changed, and it's _stifling_ me. I'll still visit, but I'm also still going to move out. Besides, I'm twenty-seven – don't you think it's time?”

“I don't think it'll ever be the time for my baby to move,” Moira sighed. “But please, promise to take Mr. Diggle with you on your next... hunting trip. It's _not_ safe; you've already been abducted once, and there's a maniac out there, hunting the wealthy.”

Oliver bristled, but tried not to show it. “That 'maniac' saved my life.”

“This isn't a game,” she said, sternly. “I lost you once, and I am not going through _that_ again.”

“Okay,” Oliver relented. “Digg's my guy.”

Moira nodded. “Thank you.” She left then – most likely to figure out a way to stop him from moving out, but there wasn't really much that she could do – and Oliver turned his attention back onto his bodyguard.

“Sorry to give you so much grief,” he said, with a fake carefree tone.

“I served three tours in Afghanistan, Mr. Queen.” Diggle told him, walking forwards as he buttoned his suit jacket. “You don't even come _close_ to my definition of 'grief'. But,” he added on, in a warning. “You ditch me one more time, and no one will have to fire me.”

That would probably hurt Oliver more than it'd help – Diggle was an alright guy, who could possibly even join his fight against the List – and so he kept quiet as the bigger man left the room. He meant to follow, but then Thea entered, wearing a skirt so short that it was actually a very low-set belt. “Where are you going?”

“Uh,” she rolled her eyes at his typical 'big-brother' behavior. “Somewhere loud and smokey. And don't even bother trying to pickpocket my stash this time, because I'm gonna get drunk instead.”

“Thea, do you think this is what Dad would want for you?”

She stiffened immediately, turning her face towards him, eyes showing anger and pain. “Dead people don't want anything. It's one of the benefits of _being dead_.”

“I was dead,” Oliver told her. “And I wanted a lot.”

“Except your family,” Thea snapped. “You've been home a week, and all you do is avoid Mom, ignore Walter, buy off Fletcher, and judge me.”

He took a step back. “Buy off-”

“Don't even try it.” Thea warned him, as she made her way towards him. “All day, delivery-men keep coming, throwing pointless toy after pointless toy at her. You can't buy her affection, and you can't buy her apology. I think our parents have already proved, that _that_ doesn't work,” and then, with a disgusted look, she swooped out of the room, heels clicking loudly behind her. “Don't wait up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the first part of Honor Thy Father! You can understand why I split it into two parts, as this is the longest chapter *yet*. Fletcher had a less prominent role in this one, but as you can see, things have already changed. But then, Fletcher isn't the main character of this fic. It's more an AU where Oliver has custody of his child from the beginning, and a few more additions and changes of my own.  
> I'm also bringing back some of the classic-comic fun back to Arrow, because the show is brilliant - this season less so - but it's gritty, too, and it's like the DK series for that. I wanna bring back some of the original DC comics to Arrow. (Hence why there'll be other superheroes, and quicker than in-show.)  
> If you have any ideas, or suggestions - on ways my writing could develop, or how the story could progress - feel free to comment. And, also, please comment and tell me how you felt about this chapter.  
> As always, I beta-ed it myself, so all mistakes are my own.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
